Volume II Part 36 (1/2)
”Adeline, dark hours of sorrow are before thee! Think not to escape.”
He seized her hand.
”Shouldst thou wed another, a doom is thine--a doom from which even thought recoils.”
He looked steadfastly upon her, but the maiden spoke not; a tear quivered through her drooping eyelashes, and her lip grew pale.
”But I must away,” continued Mortimer. ”Yonder bark awaits me,” and he drew her gently towards the brink. ”It will part us, perhaps for ever!
No, no, not for ever. Thou wilt wed--it may be--and when I return--Horror!”
He started back, as from a spectre which his imagination had created.
”That ring--take it. Let it be thy monitor; and should another seek thy love, look on it; for it shall warn thee. It shall be a silent witness of thy thoughts--one that will watch over thee in my stead; for the genii of that ring,” said he, playfully, ”are my slaves.”
But she returned the pledge.
”I cannot. Do not wind the links around me thus, lest they gall my spirit; lest I feel the fetters, and wish them broken!”
”Then I swear,” said Mortimer, vehemently, ”no hand but thine shall wear it!”
He raised his arm, and the next moment the ring would have been hurled into the gulf, but ere it fell he cast another glance at his mistress. Her heart was full. The emotion she sought to quell quivered convulsively on her lip. He seized her hand; but when he looked again upon the ring it was broken!
By what a strange and mysterious link are the finest and most subtle feelings connected with external forms and appearances! By what unseen process are they wrought out and developed; their hidden sources, the secret avenues of thought and emotion, discovered--called forth by circ.u.mstances the most trivial and unimportant! Adeline turned pale; and Mortimer himself shuddered as he beheld the omen. But another train of feelings had taken possession of her bosom; or rather her thoughts had acquired a new tendency by this apparently casual circ.u.mstance; and true to the bent and disposition of our nature, now that the slighted good was in danger of being withdrawn, she became anxious for its possession. She received the token. A slight crack upon its rim was visible, but this fracture did not prevent its being retained on the hand.
After this brief development their walk was concluded. They breathed no vows. Mortimer would not again urge her. A lock of hair only was exchanged; and shortly the last adieu was on their lips, and the broad deck of the vessel beneath his feet, whence he saw the tall cliff sink down into the ocean, and with it his hopes, that seemed to sink for ever into the same gulf!
Some few years afterwards, on a still evening, about the same time of the year, a boat was lowered from a distant vessel in the offing.
Three men pulled ash.o.r.e as the broad full moon rose up, red and dim, from the mist that hung upon the sea. The roll of the ocean alone betokened its approach. Its melancholy murmur alone broke the universal stillness. The lights came out one by one from the village cas.e.m.e.nts. The cattle were housed, and the curs had crept to the hearth, save some of the younger sort, who at intervals worried themselves, fidgeting about, and making a mighty show of activity and watchfulness.
One of the pa.s.sengers stepped hastily on sh.o.r.e. He spoke a few words to the rowers, who threw their oars into the boat, fastening her to the rocks. Afterwards they betook themselves to a tavern newly trimmed, where, swinging from a rude pole, hung the ”_sign_” of a s.h.i.+p--for _sign_ it could only be called--painted long ago by some self-initiated and village-immortalised artist, whose production had once been the wonder of the whole neighbourhood.
A roaring blaze revealed the whole interior, where pewter cups and well-scoured trenchers threw their bright glances upon all who wooed these dangerous allurements at ”The s.h.i.+p.”
But the individual whom the rowers had put ash.o.r.e withstood these tempting devices. He strode rapidly up the path, and paused not until he approached the cliff where the agony of one short hour had left its deep furrows for ever on his memory.
The incidents of that memorable day were then renewed with such vividness that, on a sudden, writhing and dismayed, he hurried forward in the vain hope, it might seem, of flying from the anguish he could not control.
A dark plain stone house stood at no great distance, and hither his footsteps were now directed. A little gate opened into a gravel walk sweeping round an oval gra.s.s plat before the door. He leaned upon the wicket, as though hesitating to enter. By this time the moon rode high and clear above the mist which was yet slumbering on the ocean. She came forth gloriously, without a shadow or a cloud. The wide hemisphere was unveiled, but its bright orbs were softened by her gaze. The shadows, broad and distinct, lay projected on a slight h.o.a.r-frost, where a thousand splendours and a thousand crystals hung in the cold and dewy beam. Bright, tranquil, and unruffled was the world around him--but the world within was dark and turbulent--tossed, agitated, and overwhelmed by the deep untold anguish of the spirit.
The tyrant sway of the pa.s.sions, like some desolating invader, can make a paradise into a desert, and the fruitful places into a wilderness. How different to Mortimer would have been the scene viewed through another medium! His soul was ardent, devoted, full of high and glorious imaginings; but a blight was on them all, and they became chill and decayed--an uninformed ma.s.s, without aim or vitality.
He was afraid to proceed, lest his worst suspicions might be confirmed. He had heard----But we will not antic.i.p.ate the sequel.
A loud barking announced the presence of an intruder, but the sagacious animal, when he had carefully snuffed out a recognition, fawned and whined upon him, running round and round towards the house, with gambols frolicsome and extravagant enough to have excited the smiles of any human being but Mortimer.
As he approached he heard a soft, faint melody from within. It was her voice;--he could not be mistaken, though years had pa.s.sed by;--though the dull tide of oblivion had effaced many an intervening record from the tablet of his memory, those tones yet vibrated to his soul. His heart thrilled to their impression like two finely-modulated strings, which produce a corresponding sympathy upon each other. He listened, almost breathless. The recollection came like a track of fire across his brain. Memory! how glorious, how terrible art thou! With the wand of the enchanter thou canst change every current of feeling into joy or woe. The same agency--nay, the same object--shall awaken the most opposite emotions. The simplest forms and the subtlest agents are alike to thee. Nature seems fas.h.i.+oned at thy will, and her attributes are but the instruments of thy power.
The melody that he heard was a wild and mournful ballad which he had once given to Adeline, when the hours flew on, sparkling with delight, and--she had not forgotten him!